


Polly Wants a Killer

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee), rillalicious



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 03:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillalicious/pseuds/rillalicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn and Gus are trying to solve a murder. The problem? The only witness is the victim's pet parrot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polly Wants a Killer

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Крошка Полли разыскивает убийцу](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391032) by [krapivka37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krapivka37/pseuds/krapivka37)



**1987**

Shawn raised the little plastic telescope to his eye and stretched it out, scanning the kitchen counter with it until his gaze came to rest on a small glass bottle.

"I've got it!" he said. "The final ingredient is Tabasco sauce, ye land lubber!"

Gus hopped off his chair and raced to the counter, grabbing the Tabasco and then returning to the table. Setting it down, he pushed it towards Shawn.

"Okay, you go first," he said.

"Nuh uh," said Shawn. "You're Mikey. Mikey has to try _everything_ first. Because he'll hate it. I've never even seen the Cap'n eat his own cereal."

Gus hesitated, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, and then he picked up the bottle of Tabasco sauce and sprinkled it liberally onto his bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal. Setting down the bottle, he picked up his spoon and scooped up a large spoonful. Closing his eyes with a grimace, he started to guide the spoon to his mouth.

"What are you boys up to?" Henry asked as he entered the kitchen, giving both boys a suspicious look, especially after Gus dropped his spoon with a guilty start.

"Eatin' breakfast," said Shawn. "Just eatin' breakfast."

"Uh, huh," Henry said with a skeptical tone. He looked at Gus, who was poking his spoon into his bowl with a grimace on his face. "Is there a reason why you made Gus put Tabasco sauce on his cereal?"

"Aye," said Shawn, his pirate voice wavering slightly under Henry's glare. "I'm the Cap'n! He got to choose between this and swabbin' the deck."

Henry frowned. "Shawn, you're not tryin' to trick Gus into doing your chores again, are you?"

"No, Dad," said Shawn. "He chose food dare."

"It's okay, Mr. Spencer," Gus said, his eyes widening earnestly. "I don't mind eating it. It's better than swabbing the deck."

Henry looked from one boy to the other, pursing his lips as if he were resisting the urge to smile. Finally, he reached out and took Gus's cereal, not missing how Gus's shoulders sagged in relief.

"Gus, go get yourself another bowl," he said. "And when you boys are done eating, you can _both_ 'swab the deck'."

"Aw, man," said Shawn, looking back at his bowl. "I was just tryin' to be a good pirate captain."

Henry snorted.

"Yeah, well, pirates aren't exactly good role models, son."

Shawn sighed and looked at Gus. "Back to the drawing board, matey. Maybe we should be ninjas instead!" He jumped to his feet, grabbed a napkin off the table, wrapped it around his face, and ran off.

"Awesome!" Gus raced after Shawn.

-o-O-o-

 **Present Day**

"Shawn!" Gus burst into the office, his nostrils flaring. "This time you've gone too far!"

"Au contraire, my friend," said Shawn, without looking up from his game board. "Not yet. B-12. Your move." He looked up at the parrot standing on the desk, just on the other side of Battleship.

Gus did a double take when he saw Shawn's opponent.

"Does he know you cheat?" he asked. He turned to the parrot. "He cheats!"

"I do _not_ cheat," said Shawn. "I happen to have a natural talent for naval strategy. It's one of my special gifts, Gus. Don't be jealous. Jealousy is ugly."

Gus bristled.

"I'm not jealous of a parrot, Shawn!" he said heatedly. "I can play just as well as that bird! Maybe better."

Just then, the parrot squawked, "You sank my battleship," and picked up the sunk ship and tossed it aside.

Gus stared at the bird for a moment, his mouth hanging open, and then turned back to Shawn with a triumphant smirk.

"Definitely better."

"Now you're just rubbing it in," said Shawn. "Look, you've angered him." The parrot had begun angrily plucking out pegs and spitting them off the desk. Shawn pushed the boards aside.

"Do you have any millett on you?"

Gus automatically started patting down his pockets and then he stopped.

"Of course not. I'm not a walking pet store, Shawn."

Suddenly he gave Shawn an indignant look.

"And why is that parrot sitting at _my_ desk?"

"I would think that would be obvious, Gus," said Shawn. "I don't want him pooping on _my_ desk."

Gus scowled fiercely and raised his finger at Shawn, opening his mouth to say something when the parrot suddenly squawked again and said, "Don't be a gloomy Gus!"

Shawn gestured to the parrot. "He's got your number," he said. Then he rested his chin between his forefinger and thumb and examined the parrot thoughtfully. "Gus, I think I've got it!"

Gus started to sit down, but jumped up again when he saw parrot poop on his chair. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a giant spray bottle of disinfecting cleaner and started to clean.

"Well, thank God for that," he said. "I don't think Lassiter is buying your Doctor Doolittle routine. That parrot can't tell us who killed Deetz. We could really go to jail this time, Shawn. And I'm too pretty for prison."

"We're not going to prison, Gus," said Shawn, still staring the parrot down. "But no, I wasn't talking about the case. I think I figured out why he can't win at Battleship."

Gus finished cleaning off his chair and put away the spray cleaner before sitting down gingerly.

"Oh, yeah?" He raised a brow. "Well, that one's easy. He's a _parrot_ , Shawn!"

"Yes, exactly! And parrots love pirates, right? If I could fashion a set of tiny pirate ships, it might turn the proverbial tide," said Shawn. "What say you, my brightly colored friend?"

"Idiot!" squawked the parrot.

Shawn frowned. "I did _not_ teach him that."

Gus grinned and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet on his desk and crossing them at his ankles.

"He's got _your_ number, too," he said smugly.

"That's ridiculous," said Shawn. "He's just a bird who repeats anything he hears."

"Idiot!" cried the parrot once more. "Hands off!"

"Gus, did you hear that?" Shawn turned back to the bird. "Captain Frankenberry, say it again!"

"It's Cap'n _Crunch_ , Shawn," Gus said with a pedantic tone. "You of all people should know that. You were always Cap'n Crunch and I was Mikey, remember?"

Gus grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds off his desk and had just popped a few in his mouth, when he suddenly realized it was birdseed. Making a face of disgust, he spit it out into the trash.

"Idiot!" the parrot shrieked. "Don't shoot!"

"I named the _parrot_ Captain Frankenberry," said Shawn indignantly. "Have you ever heard of an 'homage'? Geez. And listen! Gus, this parrot heard something. I knew it! I knew he saw Ricky Deetz get murdered! What did you see, boy? Who did it? Will you tell me for a Scooby snack?"

Gus poured some birdseed into the palm of his hand and held it out to the parrot. Captain Frankenberry took a few seeds, crunching on them loudly as he ate. When the parrot was done, he announced, "The butler did it!"

"The butler did it!" Shawn said, raising his finger in the air triumphantly. "Wait, the victim lived in a one bedroom apartment and worked as a short order cook. He didn't have a butler. Maybe it's code."

Gus frowned for a second.

"Maybe he means a famous butler," he said. "Like Alfred. I can totally see him shooting someone if he got mad enough. Like if Bruce Wayne came home with a dirty batsuit one too many times."

"Gus, Bruce Wayne _always_ comes home with a dirty batsuit. That's what happens when you're a crime-fighting vigilante." Shawn tapped his temple thoughtfully with his finger. "The butler..."

"Clue!" squawked the parrot. "Clue in the library! With the candlestick!"

Gus rolled his eyes. "You played Clue with him earlier, didn't you, Shawn?"

"Among other things," said Shawn. "He's surprisingly good at Scrabble. That explains the butler part, but not the 'Idiot, don't shoot!'. Gus, this parrot saw something, and we have to figure out what that something was. His cage overlooked Deetz's kitchen window, didn't it?"

"We should go check it out." Gus grabbed his car keys and jumped to his feet.

"Shotgun!" Shawn held out his arm for the bird to climb aboard. "Sorry, Captain Frankenberry, it had to be done. Now come! To the parrotmobile!"

"Oh, no!" Gus said, wagging his finger at Shawn as he headed to the door. "The parrot stays here. It's a company car, Shawn!"

"He's a material witness!" said Shawn. "How are we supposed to finger the killer if the only one who _saw_ the killer is sitting in a cage in our office? Besides, he's clearly used to the good life. You saw all those little trinkets and shiny things in his cage. We have to help him maintain the quality of life that he's used to. His owner is dead, Gus. It's the only way."

"I don't know why a bird needs so much bling," Gus said indignantly. "Who gives their parrot a wedding ring? Now that's just _wrong_."

He sighed dramatically and then added, "All right, he can come with us. But if he poops, you clean it up!"

With that, he reached into his desk drawer and took out the bottle of spray cleaner, thrusting it into Shawn's hand before storming out to the car.

Shawn looked at the bottle, then at the bird.

"You can hold it till we get there, right?" To be safe, he grabbed a handful of newspapers as well, then headed out after Gus.

-o-O-o-

Gus rushed to the crime scene with one eye on the road and one eye on the parrot. Luckily for Shawn, they reached the house without incident and were soon standing at the back door. Shifting from one foot to the other, Gus waited as Shawn jimmied open the lock.

"We've already been here, Shawn," he said, his eyes darting from side to side. "I don't think we're gonna find anything new. Let's go before we get caught."

"We have to find out what the Captain knows," said Shawn adamantly. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "I'm calling him 'the Captain' now. Rock, paper, scissors to see who gets to be Tennille?"

He crouched down and started creeping toward the kitchen window where the parrot's cage had hung.

"We both know _I_ would be the better Tennille," Gus said quickly. "I'm a much better singer than you." With that, he moonwalked across the kitchen floor, singing falsetto: "Whoa, baby, do that to me one more time."

Shawn watched Gus for a moment with one eyebrow raised. "Point taken. Now, let's review what we know about the crime. Deetz's best friend was a parrot. He was shot in the kitchen last night. He had no known enemies, or human friends, or hobbies. One brother, but they were estranged. Possibly the most boring man in existence."

He glanced around the kitchen, his gaze falling on an envelope in the mail rack on the wall. The return address was from a legal firm. Shawn lifted the letter from the rack and a slip of paper dropped to the floor: a lottery ticket. He picked it up, reading the numbers.

"Gus," he said slowly, "this guy was a lottery winner. These were Saturday's numbers."

Gus's eyes widened.

"He won two million dollars, Shawn! You think that's the motive?"

"Two million? I'd say. Gus, take a look at this," he said, holding up the lawyer's letter. The envelope had already been sliced open and he pulled out the letter inside. "It's a notice from his lawyers. It looks like he was trying to change the terms of his divorce settlement. Did Lassiter mention that Deetz was married?"

"No, he did not." Gus grabbed the bill and headed to the window for better reading light. When he reached it, he stopped short, his nostrils flaring. "Do you smell that, Shawn?"

Shawn sniffed the air. "Bagels?"

"N--yes!" Gus looked at Shawn in astonishment. "Very good, Shawn. But not just any bagels--" His nostrils flared again and he started to bounce up and down. "I'm picking up lemon... garlic... and peanut butter. There's only one bagel shop in Santa Barbara that sells that kind of bagel--the Bagel Bundle!"

"Idiot!" the parrot squawked. "Hands off! Don't shoot!"

Shawn looked at the parrot, and then at Gus. "We need to get to that bagel sho--uh oh." His gaze froze on the window behind Gus's head and then he ducked down. "Lassie. Let's creep out the back."

But before they could move, the door of the kitchen swung open.

Lassiter held the door open for Juliet.

"I'm telling you, O'Hara," he said. "I'm certain it's Deetz's brother. He has the beady eyes of a criminal. When Chief Vick gets back from her vacation--" He stopped short when he saw Spencer and Guster crouched down on the floor of the kitchen.

"Spencer!" he growled. "What're you doing here?"

"Lassie!" Shawn said cheerfully, spreading himself out on the floor, holding one arm off the ground for the bird to perch upon.

"Lassie!" squawked the parrot.

"Oh, look," said Shawn. "He missed you. We were just... picking up some floor vibes. This is a very vibey floor. All tiled and black and white and infused with the killer's mojo. Captain Frankenberry thought it would be a good idea for us to check it out."

Lassiter's eyes narrowed.

"Spencer, I'll say this only once," he said menacingly. "This is a murder investigation. Leave the perverted little games you and Guster play in the privacy of your own home out of it."

"Hey!" Gus said indignantly. "Captain Frankenberry is the _parrot_." He smiled smugly. " _I'm_ Mikey."

" _Mikey_?" said Juliet, looking from Shawn to Gus, then back to the parrot.

"Yeah, you know: 'He likes it, hey, Mikey!'" Gus rolled his eyes. "The Life cereal commercial?"

"One thing I never got," said Shawn, resting his chin on his hand as he stretched his neck to look up at them. "Why do they want to make Mikey eat it? I mean, if he hates everything and he hates it, it could conceivably still be good, right?"

"It's a commercial, Shawn," Gus said. "It doesn't have to make sense."

"Just like it doesn't make sense why you two are here," Lassiter said, his frown deepening. "So scram."

"Uh, no can do," said Shawn. "There's something going on here. I can sense it. We have to stay. Captain Frankenberry insists."

Gus nodded earnestly. "We have to listen to Captain Frankenberry."

"Yeah, right," Lassiter said, rolling his eyes. "And what is 'Captain Frankenberry' going to tell us what we don't already know?"

At that moment, the parrot squawked and said, "Idiot! Don't shoot!"

Juliet automatically reached for her gun, then realized it was the parrot.

"Shawn," she said. "Get on your feet. Who taught him to say that?"

"The _killer_ ," Shawn said with exaggeration. "Who else? Don't worry, Captain. We'll get him. Or her." He started to get to his feet slowly and froze for just a second as he noticed an empty matchbook beneath the table leg, presumably to keep the table from shaking. His gaze narrowed on the silver star logo along the edge.

"Wait! Whoa!" Shawn grabbed his head and handed the parrot off to Juliet. "I'm getting something. It's... It's round... round like a donut... but not--Bagels! I'm getting bagels! And not just bagels... Beer! Bagels and beer and cowboy hats? Mechanical bulls! Mechanical bulls eating bagels and drinking beer!"

Rolling his eyes, Lassiter opened his mouth to say something that was probably scathing when he froze.

"Wait a minute!" he said. "Mechanical bull? He must mean the Rhinestone Cowpoke! It's a bar, and what's more, it's right next to the bagel shop where Danny Deetz works!"

"Shawn, that's amazing," said Juliet. "Do you think we'll find the killer there?"

"Well, I think we know now that we'll at least find Lassie there on karaoke night," said Shawn.

Lassiter's face briefly showed astonishment, but he hid it again quickly.

"Ricky Deetz used to hang out at the Rhinestone Cowpoke!" said Shawn.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Lassiter said, drawing his gun and twirling it around his finger before sticking it into his holster again. "Let's go, O'Hara. You two--go home."

"No!" Gus said quickly. "You need us! Captain Frankenberry can identify the killer. Shawn can communicate with him."

Juliet looked up at Lassiter, shaking off the odd look she'd had on her face since he'd spun his gun around.

"He has a point," she said. "That parrot is the only witness we have."

"Yes!" said Shawn. "And he calls shotgun! What's that? Oh! He calls shotgun _on_ my arm! Shotgun!"

Juliet pursed her lips. "You're taking your own car," she said.

Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said. "Come on, O'Hara." He sneered at Shawn and Gus and left the kitchen after Juliet.

"You keep an eye on that parrot, Shawn," Gus said warningly as they headed out to the car. "Or you're cleaning it up."

-o-O-o-

"That's what I said!" Shawn told Captain Frankenberry as they pulled into the parking lot. "Gus, you have got to hear what this guy has to say about tiny jingle bells. Fascinating stuff." He looked out the window. "Okay, Lassie's heading into the bar, and as fun as that's going to be to watch, I say we need to check out the bagel place first. And besides, I'm starved. And they have pineapple cream cheese."

Gus followed Shawn and Captain Frankenberry into the bagel shop.

"Wow." He made a face as he looked up at the menu behind the register. "'Curly kale and peppermint.' Yum."

"Leafy greens are good for you, Gus," said Shawn. "They're just thinking of your health. And your fresh breath." He nodded at the woman behind the counter, who was _staring_ at the parrot. Beside her, another woman was slicing deftly through half a dozen bagels with a very sharp knife. Shawn shuddered.

"Oh, I'll take a tutti frutti bagel with pineapple cream cheese. And half a melon for my feathered friend." He glanced at the windowed room behind the counter and nudged Gus.

"Check it out," he said, indicating the huge man covered in tattoos in the back. "Maybe that's the brother. He's the only guy in here."

"Idiot!" squawked Captain Frankenberry.

Gus gasped.

"You hear that, Shawn?" he whispered. "The Captain called him an 'idiot'! He must be the killer!"

"Hold on," said Shawn. He rose up on his toes to peer over the counter. There was something else he wanted to see first.. "So," he said to the woman slicing his bagel, "this looks like an exciting job."

"You're not supposed to bring animals in the shop," she said without looking up.

"He's my friend's service bird," said Shawn. "He has this condition. It's a paralyzing fear of onions. Captain Frankenberry picks off all the onions for him. He'd be curled up in the fetal position under that table if it weren't for this brave, brave bird."

"Oh, my _GOD_!" Gus cried. "No onions, please!" He covered his face with his hands, making sounds like he was about to hyperventilate.

"Don't be a gloomy Gus!" The parrot said, hopping over to sit on Gus's shoulder.

"Amazing, isn't it?" said Shawn, sounding a little choked up. "That parrot is like a gift from God. So, anyway," he noted the name on her nametag, "Lydia, you get a lot of regular customers in here?"

Lydia shrugged. "Some," she said.

"Idiot!" the parrot squawked.

Lydia's head shot up and she looked suspiciously at the bird. "That thing really shouldn't be in here."

"You don't want to see what happens to him when the Captain doesn't pick out his onions." Shawn lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "He'll lock himself in the supply closet and try to climb into that big buckety thing that they use to wash the floors. You know the thing? Big yellow janitor thing."

"I know the thing," Lydia said. She wrapped the bagel up in paper and slapped it on the counter. "Next!"

"Just one more question, about your regular customers," said Shawn, edging slowly down the aisle as the line filled in. "Do you ever get any crossover from the Cowpoke next door? Say, a gentleman named Ricky Deetz?"

Lydia paused for a moment, then said, "Deetz. I don't know a Ricky, but you know who might? That guy." She nodded toward the scary looking bagel man behind the window, who chose just that moment to look up menacingly. "His last name is Deetz."

Shawn looked over the papers taped to the wall beside the toaster, taking note of the schedule that listed a Danny Deetz for today's shift. His gaze ran up and down the rest of the names as well.

"Gus," Shawn whispered, tugging him toward the cash register. "We need to get Jules and Lassie."

Gus had moved behind Shawn and was giving big creepy man a suspicious look.

"Right," he said. "Let's go."

-o-O-o-

When they entered the bar, the bouncer looked up with a scowl.

"Not pets allowed."

Gus straightened up and gave the man a belligerent look.

"This isn't a pet," he said. "He's my service animal."

The bouncer looked like he was about to argue, but then obviously thought better of it and waved them through. They looked around for a moment before spotting Lassiter and Juliet at the bar where they were talking to a very familiar man, who looked over at them and narrowed his eyes.

"Uh, oh, Shawn," Gus whispered. "Your dad's here."

"At a cowboy bar? No way," said Shawn. He waved wildly over his head and then pulled Gus toward the bar.

Henry put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head as Shawn and Gus approached.

"Hello, boys," he said, giving them a dark look that promised a nice, long nag once he had them alone.

"Jules, Dad, Lassie," Shawn said, nodding at them in succession. "You two planning your next duet? Might I suggest 'Islands in the Stream'? Lassie, of course, would take the Dolly parts."

"I do Kenny, actually." Lassiter froze as he realized everyone was staring at him--everyone but Henry, that is, who looked like he was about to _murder_ him. He turned slightly and pulled his jacket away from his gun so that he'd be able to reach it quickly in case the perp--or Henry--attacked him.

Henry turned toward Shawn, his glower deepening.

"What are you doing here, Shawn?"

"Oh, I was just in the mood for a snack and--Oh!" Shawn whacked himself over the head with the bagel. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Wait, I'm getting something!" He hit his forehead with the bagel again, and then again. "I see... I see cream cheese... The last thing the victim saw was... peanut butter... garlic... Captain Frankenberry, no! Look out!"

"Idiot!" squawked the parrot, flapping his wings in excitement.

Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"The victim was _shot_ , Spencer, not hit in the head with a bagel," he said with a sneer.

"No!" Gus said quickly. "I think he means bagels were _involved_."

Juliet's eyes widened. "Shawn, was the killer from the bagel shop next door?"

Shawn hit himself in the nose with the bagel. "YES!"

"I knew it was Deetz's brother!" Lassiter said, drawing his gun. "Let's go!"

He took off at a run towards the bagel shop.

"Look at him, waving that thing around like TJ Hooker," said Shawn, grinning. He tapped Gus's arm. "Big moment. Come on."

When they reached the bagel shop, Lassiter already had the big brawny guy with his face against the wall and was reading him his rights.

"Nice that you could join us, Spencer," he said. "But it looks like I have it all wrapped up now."

"Unfortunately, Lassie, I don't think you do," said Shawn, puffing out a chest a little as his diatribe began. "Because _that_ is not the real killer. This is!" He whirled around and pointed to Lydia.

"That's insane. I didn't--" she began, but the parrot squawked, "Idiot! Hands off! Don't shoot!" and she took off, throwing down a tiered rack of bagels behind her.

Juliet leapt over the the bagel tray and chased her toward the exit, but Henry jumped in front of the door, grabbing the girl easily and then holding her until Juliet had reached him. He gave his son a quizzical look.

" _You_ are the one who killed Ricky Deetz," said Shawn triumphantly. "And you tried to pin it on big creepy brother back there, because who would ever suspect the sweet little bagel slicer when you have... Well, when you have _him_ working behind the counter."

"You can't prove that I killed anyone!" said Lydia.

"The butler did it!" the parrot squawked. "The butler did it!"

"Shh, Captain Frankenberry," Gus said, pressing his finger to his lips. "We can play Clue when we get home."

Suddenly, Shawn remembered seeing the schedule hanging up just beneath the list of daily soups.

"He's right!" Shawn said. "The butler _did_ do it. Lydia Butler, Bagel Bundle employee did. But why... Why would she kill a man whose only crime was bad, _bad_ Travis Tritt karaoke? The answer is simple. She's not really sweet, innocent bagel slicer Lydia Butler, are you, Lydia?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Lydia.

"Her real name," said Shawn, "is Lydia Deetz!"

Juliet cocked her head. "As in the character from Beetlejuice?"

"I _hated_ that name," said Lydia.

"And you hated your ex-husband, Ricky Deetz, even more," said Shawn. "Because _he_ won the lottery, and," he glanced at Captain Frankenberry and raised his chin triumphantly, "he was going to leave it all to the bird!"

"It wasn't fair!" Lydia cried out. "He was supposed to leave me half of everything in the will! We agreed on that! It was in the divorce settlement. But oh, no, he wins two million and wants it all to go to the bird! It was bad enough that he was going to cut me out of my crappy little inheritance in the first place, but he wanted to give two million to that flying rat! Now he can't."

"All right, I've heard enough," Lassiter said, giving Spencer a reluctant look of respect. "Book 'er, O'Hara."

Juliet nodded and started tugging the perp out of the shop and toward the car.

"Well," said Shawn, turning to Gus, "looks like Captain Frankenberry helped us solve the case after all." He took a bite out of his bagel.

"Idiots!" the parrot squawked.

Henry shook his head and then waved his finger between Shawn and Gus.

"He's got your number."

-o-O-o-

"Maybe we can use our fee to buy new desk chairs," Gus said with a scowl. Captain Frankenberry had used his chair as a toilet one last time before Danny Deetz had picked him up with the promise that he'd give his 'ward' a good home.

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Gus. You sit on park benches, right?" said Shawn. "Birds poop all over those things _all_ the time."

"That's different, Shawn. That's _my_ chair. Even if I clean it with bleach, I _know_ it was there." Gus harrumphed. "You wouldn't understand. He didn't poop on _your_ chair."

"I know," said Shawn. "Thank God for that, right? Now, let's go get some food. Tutti frutti bagels? Not as hearty a meal as one might expect. Jerk chicken?"

Gus's face brightened. "With extra Tabasco sauce?"

"Of course!" said Shawn. "The hotter the better."

Gus grinned. "You know that's right."


End file.
